


to those who sip nectar give teeth

by TolkienGirl



Series: All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [356]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Female Friendship, Gen, Gold Rush AU, Grief/Mourning, Sparring, Tea Parties, Yes a lot is happening here, title from Lisa Robertson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:42:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29879235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: Luthien leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and said, “Teach me to fight.”
Relationships: Haldar & Haleth of the Haladin, Haleth of the Haladin & Lúthien Tinúviel
Series: All That Glitters Gold Rush!AU: The Full Series [356]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1300685
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	to those who sip nectar give teeth

When she rode, knees gripping the belly of the horse, hands tangled in its mane—for she had been taught to ride without a bridle—Haleth felt like a child again. Her father had lifted her to the back of a mare before she reached her second summer. She did not remember that ride, but it was said that Haldar, and not she, had cried in fear. Haldar had resented this telling of the story very much. He might have been thinner and smaller than his twin, for all their life together, but he was equally as fierce. He burned hot, and Haleth burned cold, and that was what twins born at winter sunrise would give you. So the old women said.

Haleth rode hard into the wind, which was little more than cool, today, and wondered if she would ever be done with her secret weeping for him.

Upon her return to the stables, which seemed small and confining after the endless, trampled reaches of Doriath’s fields, there was a note waiting for her.

More particularly, Daeron was waiting for her, with a fold of paper in his hand.

“What’s this?” demanded Haleth. She didn’t speak long to Daeron unless she had to.

“A message from Mademoiselle,” he said, which meant Luthien, in his own twisting tongue. “She is…unwell.”

Haleth took the letter and turned away, that he might not see her worry. Luthien, unwell? Luthien was generally as healthy as one of her father’s fast-footed horses.

The note itself had been opened and resealed. That was to be expected. In Luthien’s flowing script, Haleth was assured that she ought _not_ worry, it was only a cold, but would Haleth take pity on an invalid and take tea with her? Tea, yes, in Luthien’s chamber. 

“I’ll come,” said Haleth.

“I’ll accompany you,” said Daeron, smiling thinly.

Haleth’s smile, she was certain, was even thinner. “No. I need to dress.”

She washed, too, because she knew she smelled of horses. Then she braided her hair again and put on a clean white shirt and her neatest trousers. It was a warm day, so she chose a leather vest that Wachiwi had helped tool rather than her coat.

She missed Wachiwi. A plan for returning to Mithrim was forming slowly in Haleth’s head, but she hadn’t much talked to herself about it yet.

Daeron was loitering in the main hall of Thingol’s house, sourer now than he’d been half an hour ago. Haleth shrugged off his latest attempt to usher her upstairs; she knew the way.

When she tapped at Luthien’s door, her friend’s bright voice called her to enter.

Luthien’s hair hung in two beautifully smooth plaits past her waist, and she wore trousers herself, under a delicate dressing gown. She greeted Haleth with a kiss to the cheek.

“I haven’t really caught a cold, you know,” Luthien said. “Scold me for lying, if you must—but I wanted a few hours without any interruption, and Papa is very susceptible to rumors of my ill health.”

“Your poor father,” said Haleth, without sympathy. Thingol did not need her sympathy. “But why did you wish to see me?”

Luthien _had_ been serious about the tea. There was a jade set, the cups exquisitely thin, set out on the redwood table at the foot of her bed. She moved towards it now, beckoning Haleth to follow her.

“You are my friend,” Luthien said, in answer to the question. “My dearest friend, in truth—no, Haleth, do not turn away so. I am not a flatterer. I simply cannot help that I am a little charming.” She grinned. “I _do_ have a favor to ask you. Have some tea, first. Then I’ll cut straight to it.”

For anyone else, Haleth would not have sat down. But it was Luthien, and so she did, taking the little cup in her long fingers, which seemed ungainly as they curved round it.

“Well?” she asked, after drinking a little. The tea was fragrant as well as flavorful; it seemed to open up the very air with its warmth. “A favor?”

Luthien had taken her seat cross-legged, with all the joyous impudence that wearing trousers bestowed. Now, she leaned forward with her elbows on her knees, and said, “Teach me to fight.”

Haleth let the surprise of the question roll over her, wind over horse and rider. Then:

“No.”

“Haleth, I keep the little set of knives _you_ gifted me hidden in my belt whenever I leave this house. Papa himself showed me how to handle a gun.” Luthien said it all as if Haleth’s refusal was nothing more than a fly to be brushed away. “I am not an ignorant child, nor a pretty golden poppy that will wither if it is touched.” She lowered her voice. “I _will_ go out into the world, one day, and when I do, I intend to be well-able to look after myself.”

Staring back into Luthien’s shining dark eyes, Haleth remembered the thrall woman who had remained with Wachiwi and the rest at Mithrim. Some had called her Belle. Belle had had skin a little lighter than Haleth’s, and a wide, clear eye: a beauty by the reckoning of many peoples, were it not for the absence of the other eye.

That eye had been cut out.

Luthien had not, that Haleth knew, a single scar on her fair skin. Luthien had never been held down while a friend’s shaking hands hunted for a bullet in her torn flesh. Luthien had never felt the press of a blade to the line of her throat.

And even Haleth had never been tortured—but perhaps Haldar had. Perhaps Elu Thingol’s daughter would be, if she found her way into the wrong hands.

It was all a matter of circumstance.

But so was freedom. Haleth could not choose to change her future enough to still the ache in her own heart, and so she chose what seemed good to her. She chose the power of riding far and wide, of calling her own name to answer for its deeds.

Luthien must also have her choices, whatever men might plot and act against each other. Luthien must not go alone, when Haleth and Haleth’s spirit could offer some manner of aid.

Haleth set her little cup upon the table. She asked, “Is that why you are wearing trousers?”

“For easier movement,” Luthien explained, delighted. She had seen the agreement on Haleth’s features—despite Haleth’s attempts at carefully guarding them—and was triumphing. “I thought we could start with knives.”

“No. You should learn how to move, first, before you take anything sharp in your hands.” Haleth stood, resigned, and beckoned with two fingers. “Get up. We’ll stand here, away from anything…precious.”

“The cups _are_ Mama’s,” Luthien murmured, as shamefaced as she ever was. She gathered them away with the little table and tucked them safely beside her bed. Then she danced back towards Haleth, excitement radiating from her very fingertips. “Very well,” she said, planting her slippered feet firmly. “Shall you try to hit me?”

“You shall try to hit _me_.”

It was endearing, watching Luthien begin delicately. She was clearly loath to hurt Haleth, and, at the outset, she thought she _could_. When Haleth easily blocked each blow of her tight-knuckled fists, however, Luthien’s mood changed. She was not angry—Haleth had never seen Luthien angry—but she was fierce. She wanted to win.

She was like her father, in that way.

“Very good,” said Haleth, after a few rounds. They had kept their feet still, so as not to make any noise on the floor, but their blows and blocks flew faster and faster. Luthien was a dancer, after all, and fluid in her movements.

“I think I am very _bad_ ,” said Luthien, ruefully.

“You cannot expect to learn it all at once,” said Haleth. “Invite me for tea, if you wish. We’ll start on knives when I say so.”

That returned the smile to her friend’s face.

_Her friend._

Haleth stretched out her hand. “One weakness,” she said, catching a silky black plait in her hand. “Tie your hair back when you fight.”

“Sometimes I’ve a mind to take up my little sewing shears and have done with it altogether.” Luthien freed herself from Haleth’s hold and twined the braided strands around her own fingers. With her other hand, she hunted in her dressing gown pocket, until she retrieved a little pair of scissors, which she raised in mocking threat.

Haleth lifted her eyebrows. “Not while I’m here, thank you,” she said. “I won’t have your father thinking it was _my_ idea.”

“You are right, Haleth. You are always right.” Luthien’s smile was like her father’s, too, for there was a sharpness in it that Haleth had never glimpsed in her encounters with Melian.

“I do not know if I am right in teaching you how to fight,” Haleth said in answer. She paced to Luthien’s window and peered out at the sunset-warmed sky. “But better you know than not.”

“I like to come to you for counsel,” Luthien said. “I trust you.”

If the implication _there_ was against Daeron, so much the better. Haleth had scarcely broken a sweat in their little skirmish, but she plucked at her shirtsleeves. “You’re planning something soon,” she said. “Aren’t you?”

“Of course I am,” answered Luthien, with a toss of her hair. “Mustn’t I? Mustn’t I think of _something_ , before I die?”

Haleth bit her tongue so she could think on her answer. Then she said, “I am going back to Mithrim.”

She heard Luthien’s sharp intake of breath. “When?”

“Soon. I want to see Wachiwi. And…” Even the walls might have ears, here. Anyway, she did not need to say his name. “I will bring back word,” she said. “Real word, Luthien. Do you understand?”

“I want more than words,” Luthien said. She drew close to Haleth, and laid her hands over Haleth’s long brown ones. “Bring me back a future, Haleth, before I go and find it myself.” 


End file.
